I remember wandering down the streets of Boston
On a shopping expedition to find the perfect earrings for the show that night
I couldn't wear just any old pair to the Opera House
I saw a staircase in an alleyway
Leading to the basement of an old building
I would've steered clear
But there was a little wooden sign
"old books"
I made a strict detour and spent forever in the underground bookstore
It was a maze of shelves
The smell of the old ink & paper was intoxicating
What Opera House?
What earrings?
What obligations?
If I could spend my life in one place
It would be that little Boston bookstore